


Give Me My Name

by Woaf



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: And because Greg Lestrade has got "leading man" written all over him!, Because I want to see Molly getting some happies for a change!, Domesticity and Fluff, F/M, Really fluffy fluff with a little poetry reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 16:21:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9556982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woaf/pseuds/Woaf
Summary: In which Molly meets Mrs. Lestrade, and Greg is full of surprises.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely inspired by the scene in “Jane Eyre” in which Rochester says, “Say, Edward—give me my name—Edward…...”
> 
> As ever, written for my own amusement. The characters are not mine, the poetry is not mine, the mistakes are all mine.

The moment Molly opened the door of her flat, Greg swept her into his arms and began to kiss her hungrily, walking her backwards into the hallway and kicking the door closed behind him.  When they eventually came up for air, he breathed, “Oh, I’ve missed you.”

“So I see,” she replied, lowering her eyes to the all-too-obvious bulge in his trousers before looking back up into the deep brown eyes she loved so much.

“Minx!” he said, reaching for her again and starting to undress her right there in the hallway.

In the early hours of the following morning, Greg lay awake.  Molly was snuggled up beside him, fast asleep.  He wanted to reach out and stroke her hair, but he didn’t want to wake her, so he stayed quite still.  As he watched her sleep, he was suddenly afraid.  Afraid that she’d change her mind, think better of it, decide that he was too old for her, not clever enough, not….. Sherlock enough.  As if she sensed his change of mood even in her sleep, she opened her eyes, immediately awake, and said, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.  Really.  Go back to sleep.”

She put a hand on his chest and looked searchingly at him, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s really nothing.  I was just thinking how lucky I am to have you and…..” his words tailed off.  He wasn’t used to showing his feelings like this, to exposing his vulnerability.

“And?”

“And,” he took a deep breath, “I was suddenly afraid.  Afraid you’d change your mind.  Afraid of losing you.  Just afraid.”

“Oh, my love,” she slid over and reached up to take his face in her hands, looking into his eyes, “don’t be.  I’m yours.  All yours.”

“Tread softly, Molly,” he whispered, his voice still betraying his fear of being rejected by the woman he loved most in all the world.

The words brought a flash of surprise into Molly’s eyes that seemed to make the gold flecks in the irises glimmer.  Inspector Lestrade quoting poetry, who ever would have thought it?  The hint at hidden depths in his character brought the ghost of a smile to her lips,

“Your dreams are safe with me, Gregory,” she replied, and pressed the smile to his lips.  As his arms slid round her to pull her closer to him, she felt him tremble slightly as their bodies came together.

 

**oOo**

 

Over tea and toast the next morning, they discussed their plans for the Bank Holiday weekend.  They had agreed to have Rosie that night, so that John and Sherlock could have a night off from parental responsibility, but the day was theirs.

“How about a day out somewhere?”  Greg suggested, “Get London out of our lungs.”

“Did you have anywhere in mind?”

“Well, somewhere not too far out of town, we have to be back to collect Rosie this evening.  Hampton Court?”

“Oh, lovely!” Molly exclaimed, “I haven’t been there for years.  Picnic or lunch out?”

“Oh, lunch out, I think.  Celebrate my return from deepest Dartmoor.  And if we’re not sitting on the ground to eat, you can wear that new dress….”

Molly smiled as she headed for the shower.  She hadn’t ever been used to a man, any man, never mind _her_ man, paying attention to what she wore.  The fact that Greg noticed and complimented her always made her feel more………….. feminine, and for any woman who spends most of her day in an androgynous lab coat, feeling feminine was at something of a premium.

Greg felt a tad guilty about the subterfuge, but he didn’t want Molly to feel nervous, and he knew she would if he told her his real plan for the day.  It was a hot day, so he dressed in a pair of smart linen trousers and a short-sleeved linen shirt, “Well, I don’t want to look like a scruff next to you!”

**oOo**

 

As they approached Hampton Court Palace, Greg ignored the signs for the public car parks and took an unmarked section of road round to the area where the grace and favour apartments were.  Molly concluded that this was some kind of police privilege and didn’t comment.  Greg parked the car.  As they got out, an elderly woman appeared from a nearby stone archway and walked towards them, calling, “Gregory!”

As Molly looked on, slightly bemused, Greg leaned down to kiss the proffered cheek and said, “Mother, it’s lovely to see you.”  Then, bringing Molly forward with a gentle pull on the hand he was holding, “This is Molly.”

“Molly, my dear,” she leaned forward and kissed Molly on the cheek, “It’s lovely to meet you.  Gregory has told me all about you.  Has talked of nothing else for weeks, in fact.”  Molly’s surprised expression and stammered, “Erm….it’s lovely to meet you, too,” elicited a sympathetic pat on the arm from Mrs. Lestrade.  “You look dazed, dear.  I told him it wasn’t fair to spring me on you as a surprise, but he wouldn’t listen.  Have you booked the table for lunch, dear?” she cast a glance at her son and, when he nodded, continued, “Well, let’s make our way to the restaurant then.  Gregory, give me your arm, would you?”

Greg avoided Molly’s eyes as his mother took his arm and they began to walk along the gravel path on which they had been standing.  It had been a bit unfair of him, it’s true, but if he had told Molly in advance, she would have worried and been nervous about meeting his mother.  Now the deed was done, he was sure that his mother would charm Molly as she charmed everyone, and he would eventually be forgiven.

 

**oOo**

Molly had put Rosie to bed while Greg tidied up the supper things and made a pot of tea, and they were now settling themselves on the sofa.  They hadn’t spoken about Greg’s little surprise on their way back to town, and as they’d gone straight to Baker Street to collect Rosie, there hadn’t been a quiet moment for discussion.  Greg thought it was about time to broach the subject,

“I’m sorry about springing Mother on you like that, but I knew that if I told you in advance you’d have been all nervous…….”

“You know me well enough to know that that’s true,” Molly said, reaching for her cup of tea.  “I wasn’t best pleased, but she’s so lovely…”

“So, am I forgiven?”

“Yes, but don’t do it again!”

“Well, I’m not likely to, am I?” he grinned.

“You know what I mean,” Molly countered, and was about to go on when a little wail emerged from the baby monitor on the low table in front of them.  She moved to get up, but Greg said,

“You drink your tea.  I’ll go.”

Molly leaned back into the sofa cushions and sipped her tea contentedly.  “Well, it had to happen one day!” she thought.

The wailing coming out of the monitor continued.  No real distress in the tone, just the uncertainty of a change to the routine.  Greg’s voice cut in over the high-pitched sound, “Now, little Rosamund, what’s all this about?”  She heard a rustle of bedding as Greg lifted Rosie out of her travel cot, “Are you a bit confused by this different room?  Well, let’s just have a look around and see what’s here, shall we?”  The wailing changed to little fussing noises as Greg talked to her, and Molly smiled at the tone of his voice. “Look, here are some of Aunt Molly’s books.  She’s got lots of books, hasn’t she?  And here’s a mirror.  Can you see yourself in there, little one?  And here’s your teddy with the rose embroidered on his tummy.  That rose is just for you, Rosamund.  Rose of all the world.  And I know everybody always calls you Rosie, because you’re very sweet and it suits you, but sometimes it’s nice to hear your full name.  Feels different, somehow.  Now, if we put teddy in here with you,” more rustling as he laid the baby in her cot, “you can cuddle up to him while you sleep.  There you go, little Rosamund.  Sleep well, sweetheart.”

 

**oOo**

 

A little while later, as they lay snuggled under the duvet, Molly wrapped in Greg’s arms, his chin resting on her head, she said softly, “Last night, I thought you were surprised that I recognized the words from Yeats, but it wasn’t that at all, was it?”

“It was the first time you had called me Gregory,” he whispered, “the first time you had given me my full name.  My Mother always calls me Gregory because she never shortens names, but until last night you had only ever called me Greg.  I don’t know why, but hearing you say it just……….. well……… touched my heart.”

Molly leaned back to look at him, “I love you, Gregory Lestrade,” she whispered, and thought she saw a tear forming in his eye as he brought his lips to hers.

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone not familiar with it, the poem referenced is “He wishes for the cloths of heaven” by W. B. Yeats


End file.
